Page 68 of Love, Amy

I wake up the next morning to sunlight streaming through the window and an Aurelio shaped divot next to me in bed. I sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. The room is empty, though I notice Aurelio rescued my suitcase and put it next to his dresser. I stretch my arms above my head, my muscles feeling warm and gooey from Aurelio’s careful ministrations last night and the lack of A/C.

I’m reaching for my phone to check the time when I hear voices. Not just Aurelio and his father, but an overlapping conversation of several loud voices talking at once. Did Aurelio invite his whole family over for breakfast? Or did they show up uninvited? I thought Italians liked to sleep in. I check my phone and realize it is pretty late, well after 9 a.m. My last-minute flight and adrenaline-induced love confession must have kept me asleep longer than usual.

I frantically pull apart my suitcase, wondering what an appropriate outfit would be for meeting your Italian boyfriend’s family the night after you snuck into their house. My thoughts race as I sort through the options. Do they hate Americans (can’t blame them)? Do they hate my father for what he did to Aurelio’s face (can’t blame them)? Do they think Aurelio is too good for me (can’t blame them)?

What has he told them about us?

I finally settle on a green tennis dress that matches my eyes. I notice a bathroom next door to Aurelio’s room and use it to slick back my hair, wash my face, and brush my teeth. It only takes me about 10 minutes to get ready, since I don’t want to keep them waiting, but I hesitate at the top of the stairs. I’ve never tried to impress anyone before unless it was on the tennis court. I figure there’s a first time for everything.

I take one more deep breath, smooth my skirt, and head down the stairs.

The family is settled in the kitchen, gathered around a small wooden table. I recognize them all from Aurelio’s matches. His father leans against the kitchen counter, sipping from a stereotypical Italian espresso cup. Bianca and Nona play cards at the table, bickering and eating breakfast as they go. There are several different jam jars in front of them, and based on Bianca’s rainbow toast, she’s sampled them all. Nona’s physical movements are slow, but she speaks rapid Italian to her great-granddaughter, seemingly scolding her for cheating. Bianca’s father, Aurelio’s brother, Alessandro, lounges on the other end of the table, watching them in amusement.

I spot Aurelio last. He’s making scrambled eggs on the stove. We’re wearing the exact same shade of green.

The bottom stair creaks under my foot. All five heads snap in my direction. Aurelio beams at me, spatula in hand. “Amy,” he says, as though relieved to see that I haven’t climbed out his bedroom window.

I wave weakly. “Hi, everyone.” I take the final step into the kitchen. “It’s so nice to meet you.” I feel silly speaking English in their home, though I know all of them, besides Nona, speak it very well. Aurelio’s mother’s family was from England, so her husband learned English when they first got together. Now I’ve got to pull my own Love Actually or Nona will never understand a thing I say.

“Amy.” Aurelio’s father steps forward. He kisses my cheek. “We are very happy to have you here.” The words seem genuine, just like his expression. Aurelio smiles at the sight of us together, finally.

“Thank you.” I shift my weight from foot to foot, unsure what to do.

Aurelio finishes the eggs, adding a few pieces of fruit to the plate. “For you.” He offers it to me. “I hope it is okay.”

I take the plate from him, glancing around the room. “No one else wanted any?”

Aurelio’s father and brother chuckle. Aurelio hides a smile at my confusion. “We don’t usually have eggs for breakfast,” he explains to me. “Too heavy for the morning.”

“Oh.” I notice just how little there is set out for the family. A few pastries, bread and jam, fruit, and of course, espresso. “I’m sorry you went out of your way—”

Aurelio looks at me sternly. “Amy, stop. I wanted to make you breakfast.” It isn’t exactly a declaration of love, but my blush clues the room in.

Bianca saves me. “Amy!” She shoves her cards out of the way. “You can sit next to me.”

“Grazie mille, Bianca.” I look at her gratefully and sit down. I lean closer and whisper, “How was my pronunciation? Terrible?”

It’s a stage whisper, but Bianca plays along as though we’re in a private conversation. “Very good.” She nods at me approvingly.

I take a bite of my eggs. “You’ll have to help me, Bianca. I want to learn Italian, but I don’t have a teacher.” Bianca’s lovely brown eyes widen at the suggestion. I fight a smile as I take a sip from the glass of water Aurelio brings over. He watches me and his niece with affection, putting a warm hand on Nona’s shoulder as he smiles at us. I hide my blush again by turning back to Bianca. “So, what do you think? Will you be my teacher?”

“Yes,” she says seriously, folding her hands together on the table. “But I want something, too.”

I raise a brow at Aurelio’s brother. “What a little negotiator you’ve raised.”

Alessandro calmly takes a sip of his espresso, watching his daughter. “Get her, bambino.”

I turn back to the very serious Bianca. “What can I do for you, Miss Bianca?”

At the formal address, Bianca’s spine straightens. I remember her in Aurelio’s arms post-match, giving interviews to the press. It doesn’t surprise me at all to see her one step ahead. “I want you to teach me how to play tennis,” she proclaims.

Now both of my eyebrows go up. “Tennis?” I look over at Aurelio. “What about your uncle?”

Aurelio shakes his head as Bianca explains. “He’s a boy.” She spreads her hands as if it’s obvious. “I want to play like you.”

I fight down a laugh. “Good point,” I tell her. “I hadn’t thought of that. Much better if I help you.” I reach a hand out. “Shall we shake on it? Tennis lessons for Italian lessons?”

Bianca’s little hand, still sticky from the jam, shakes mine. “Deal.”